The Black Bar Mitzvah, or: The Death of Rick Ross

First things first: I don’t give a flying jack about Rozay having been a C.O. in the past. Everybody get on their grind while they have to. No matter what that might be. As long as you’re not snitching on your people, it’s cool with me.
Also – I love Ross for what he’s done so far. He’s put out some QUALITY music over the past years. But, let’s keep it 100: he’s gotten lazy. The bigger his status got, the lazier he’s gotten. God forgives, I don’t was…mjeeeeh…aight… But what’s up with this The Black Bar Mitzvah-thing?!
Let’s put all the ridiculous-artwork and title-stuff aside. Let’s focus STRAIGHT on the music. Let’s call it how we see it: it’s lame. Word is bond.

I’ve seldomly heard a project as monotone and uninteresting as The Black Bar Mitzvah. Almost EVERY song sounds the same, with heavy (808) basslines, sped-up hi hats and a gruntling Rick Ross, assisted by occasional guest appearances.
Tales of coke snorting, drug trafficking, hoe banging and bottle popping – the MMG-magic formula – repeated during 18 tracks of musical monotony and lyrical, artistical, pseudo-made man-jibberish!

That was the first spin. I really wanted to like this mixtape, so I gave it a second try. Nope. Still the same. While young cats like Kendrick Lamar or A$AP Rocky push the envelope and try to advance into new spheres of an old fashioned aesthetic, Ross seems too settled in his ways.

It feels like the hustler persona he’s established over the years, got chubby and moved to Miami (no pun intended).
Where there was pure game and hustle-antics in the past, you now have blueprint-ish, predictable, exchangeable verses of identical subject matter, with almost no „swag“ at all.

When Tony Montana went off with a tremendous ending, being shot for being too greedy and paranoid, the rap-version of Freeway Ricky Ross seems to die in cold silence, due to the fact of being too self-righteous and modest with his original hustle…

R.I.P. – Rick Ross, a hustler we used to love.

God bless the dead: Hip Hop’s obsession with Death Part 1: Seagram – Man of Honor

It’s obvious: death is the superior way to stardom for every artist. But there’s no culture that’s as obsessed with death and tragedy as Hip Hop. People love rappers. They love producers and executives. But they worship martyrs. And no matter if they died fighting for their beliefs or not: any Hip Hop casualty turns into instant hero.

Let’s sum up the real tragic deaths Hip Hop had to suffer from, in a series starting with:

 

1. Seagram – Man of Honor

 

Rap has always involved tons of braggadocio on honor, respect and all those values we’ve learned from watching Goodfellas, The Godfather and Scarface. But when the chips are down – most cats simply fold. Seagram Miller didn’t. Seag was signed to Rap-A-Lot Records, back in the days. A label that was known to clown around. But his street cred ran way deeper than that.
His signing to Rap-A-Lot was due to a friendship with Houston-OG Ganksta NIP, who was infatuated with the realness Seagram brought to the table. Not only as a rapper – but as a person. He was one of those guys, nobody would have thought to be as deep in the streets as he was. Member of the 69 Street Villains, an East Oakland gang that was infamous all over town, he’d seen it all. And he displayed it within his raps. And even more: his lifestyle. When he and his comrade Gangsta P where at the Oakland Twomps-area in the early morning hours, on July 31st, 1996, a stranger opened fire on the two. Seag then jumped in the line of fire, protecting his long-time friend from the bullets, being shot numerous times – fatally.

It’s haunting, he got killed in the same Dark Roads he named his first album after. And even more tragic, he set exampled for manhood and honor by living his lyrics. Not by being gangster, but by reflecting the downward spiral of street life and gang affiliation.

Throwback Thursday: SMK – Aint nuttin shakin (1996)

I kind of caught the blues prior to writing this installment of „Throwback Thursday„, which made me chose this certain record. Now, Scratch Master K’s (how old school is that?!) second album really ain’t nothing too sad, but it’s got this mellow vibe, that goes with any kind of emotion. Therefor I found myself playing it countless times over the years.

SMK originally is from Rochester, New York, but you could never tell, judging on the sound of this album. Few producers have helped shaping the sound of Memphis Rap, the way SMK has. He’s made his mark with his soulful approach, relying heavily on funky basslines and mellow vibes, to kick back and zone out to. This here is straight Gangster Walk-music. Bump for the trunk. Gettin‘ Blowed-tracks. Of course it is – the cover depicts SMK not only smoking one, but TWO blunts at a time.
It’s straight underground. In a way. But you could still play Slow Down or Yo! It ain’t EZ for your girlfriend or even your mums and they will most likely feel it. While SMK might not be the most lyrical rapper of all time, he catches atmosphere and bumps it through the speakers.

M-Town is one of those songs. While the intro plays for about 50 seconds and is totally different from the song itself, you’ll find yourself bopping your head and moving your behind like a muuuuuuuh, as soon as the beat kicks in. SMK makes gangstas not only boogie. He makes them dance! And that’s what makes this album so special: it’s straight forward, you can tell by the cover, this is some explicit ish. But at the same time it’s diverse as can be, in it’s own right.
K takes on social criticism (All I know), reps his town (M-Town), his crew (B.P.P. in Yo Trunk), raps about smoking and getting drunk (Who’s got the Fi), dancing (Gangsta Walk) and – of course – women. Still it won’t leave you puzzled. This is one you can leave playing without skipping. Throw away your remote and activate replay-mode. Because that’s what you will find yourself doing: replaying the ish out of this record.

I told you I caught the blues. That’s why I’ll wrap it up with Hoes got me boned. To me this is the jam! SMK’s masterpiece. The bass takes you in zone. The drums make your neck hurt. The chorus gets you amped and the flow just makes you FEEL it.

Yupp – Aint nuttin shakin is a Gangsta/Thug/Drug Rap album. But there way more to it. So many personal aspects, facets and tweeks that it won’t leave your playlist for a long time!